Seven by Seven
by RisqueSno
Summary: Seven virtues, seven sins, fourteen one-shots. They offer small glimpses into the lives of a very troubled girl and her charismatic master.  Slade/Terra, Slerra
1. Charity

**Title: **Seven by Seven

**Rating: **M (For sexual content, violence, adult language, and manipulation)

**Betas:** At the Writer's Block and Jericho Pryce

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. The owners own. This is for fun, not profit. I've made no money.

**Summary:** Seven virtues, seven sins, fourteen one-shots. They offer small glimpses into the lives of a very troubled girl and her charismatic master. (Slade/Terra, Slerra)

**Author's Notes:** A series of one-shots, updated every week or whenever. Slade has the virtues and Terra has the sins. Which sounds odd, but it works. Some are coated in smut, while others don't touch upon the sexual aspect of the pairing at all.

* * *

**Charity** **- Being Generous Towards Others.**

There had been many women. Many, many women. Perhaps not the lengthy list of a man with less refined taste, but it seemed worth at least a few sheets of notebook paper; not including the ones who were anonymous, of course. For a man such as he, with practically no remaining attachments and frequent travel, it suited him perfectly. To put it into crude terms: If he had an itch, he scratched it.

If those women were arranged in order of carnal satisfaction and expertise, Terra would not be at the top. In fact, she wouldn't even be on the first page, or the second for that matter. However, in a numbered listing according to his own pleasure, she would quite easily be fifth. Because what she lacked in knowledge or urge to experiment, she more than made up for by the circumstances surrounding her. He had been the first to touch her, the first everything, and it was a fantastic feeling knowing that she was marked by him so deeply. And, at the heart of it, she was simply Terra. Naïve, clumsy, powerful, skinny little Terra, who was giving it her all, each time he snapped his fingers...on the battlefield and off; he had nurtured in her an _enthusiasm _for pleasing him. The fun of this was that she generally had no earthly idea what she was doing in regards to their relations, so if he responded well to an action, Terra would fall back on it. If he taught her something, she would not hesitate to repeat it.

Generally. There were three acts that his apprentice shied away from and was not expected to perform. The first he had tried to initiate only once, placing her small hand exactly where he wanted it and chuckling internally at the blush covering her cheeks. Mere moments later, she removed it with an accompanying grimace and Slade did not press for its return. The second act he had mentioned briefly, in the heat of the moment, after she had been particularly brazen and free with her kisses along his face and neck. "_Gross_," was the word very plainly on the edge of those lips, that she wisely decided not to utter. He had not brought it up again. The third was a thought he occasionally entertained, but would actually never mention. It would be unnecessarily traumatizing for her to try comprehending participation in and she already disliked when his hands strayed near the area.

The girl was young and he was not about to force her in manners beyond the usual violence he was fostering within her. It could be considered a gift, of sorts.

His gifts to her were many. Had he not taken her in when she was living on the streets? Helped her to control her powers and trained her to fight? He fed her, clothed her, educated her in the art of battle. And he had given her a purpose, which was more than most people ever received during their life. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement that they had.

Of course, he nearly forgot this in that split-second after being awoken by her gasping sob.

Slade was not a deep sleeper, after decades of military life and hazardous situations, and was always alert. On guard, even in his own secure facility, in his own locked chambers, next to a powerful metahuman dedicated to him. But, as circumstances went, it was the most comfortable he got, which was why he was particularly annoyed by the sudden jolt of awareness the aforementioned metahuman caused. It wasn't unusual for Terra to cry, she was an extremely emotional adolescent, and he stayed motionless in the dark for a few moments, waiting for it to pass. Perhaps she would drift off and he could go back to sleep for another hour.

The seconds ticked by, her sniffling continued, and Slade felt the irritation at being awoken dissipating. Yet again, he was going to have to deal with her problems. But that was fine; he was a patient man when it was part of the larger picture. "What's wrong, Terra?" He asked, his voice low and edged with concern.

She moved closer to him beneath the covers, pressing her bony knees unintentionally into his side. "I had a nightmare," she whispered, voice thick from crying. "About the experiments."

He knew what she was talking about, as they had discussed it before. The tests, the injections, the immersions, the chemicals. It had been almost all she knew from an early age, the scientists attempting to create a royal line of geokinetics by using her and her brother as lab rats. They had been desperate, as a small country prone to invasion after invasion, for reliably loyal superheroes of their very own. It backfired on them tremendously of course, if the recent reports about Prince Brion were to be believed, but Terra was left with devastating memories and a power she had no comprehension of or control over.

Fixing the latter two had taken time, but the former would likely never occur.

"It's not happening, Terra," he replied calmly. "They can't touch you now."

She buried her wet face into his shoulder, continuing. "They were putting me in the tube again. And I kept trying to make the stone floor move, fly at them or shake, and nothing happened. _Nothing happened. _And I was trying to scream, but they put the mask on. I couldn't kick because of the shot they gave me, it made my arms and legs feel like cement..."

The absence of her voice as she stopped talking was like a vacuum in the darkness. There was no rustling, no breathing. He had an inkling as to why she went silent, which was confirmed when the warmth of her skin covered his left side completely and he heard her apologize. "I'm sorry," she said, the fingers of her left hand flexing nervously on his chest; he reached up with his right hand to hold it steady. "I...I just don't ever wanna go back there. It hurt _so_ much, just thinking about it and seeing their faces again."

Tara Markov was a damaged girl and she had nothing in the world to hold onto but her master. Slade wrapped both arms around her thin body then, knowing that a display of affection was called for. It's what she craved and something only he planned to give her, should everything go as it should. After all, the horse needed to catch the carrot on the string every so often or it would stop moving. Then, as another gift, he imparted words into the vague blackness. Just for her.

"If you saw them again, you could kill them."

Quiet again. Slade couldn't see her face, but he could guess what it looked like after months of studying her as the wheels behind the baby blue eyes turned. When her whisper came again, the realization and sincerity behind it made him smile. Just a little.

"...I _could_."


	2. Lust

**Title: **Seven by Seven

**Rating: **M (For sexual content, violence, adult language, and manipulation)

**Beta:** At the Writer's Block and Jericho Pryce

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. The owners own. This is for fun, not profit. I've made no money.

**Summary:** Seven virtues, seven sins, fourteen one-shots. They offer small glimpses into the lives of a very troubled girl and her charismatic master. (Slade/Terra, Slerra)

**Author's Notes:** First Terra chapter! I wrote it in first person, because it felt more "in the moment" and I like challenging myself with a more limited vocabulary, but not all her pieces will be like that. And I guess Wednesday is gonna be my self-imposed update day. Let's see how that goes.

Special thanks to the United Nations Military Symbols Handbook and the song "Untouched", by the Veronicas, which played on a loop for this to get written.

* * *

**Lust - Desire for Pleasure.**

I had never thought much about boy-crazy girls on TV or the ones screaming for some band on an airport tarmac, but I always suspected it was because I just...wasn't overly girly in the first place. The idea of rushing into a room and squealing about a guy I'd seen with a bunch of giggling, screaming idiots seemed absolutely alien. I would never go crazy over some random boy. I would never let him tell me what to do. And I would never, ever throw myself at him, wanting physical contact all the time.

I have decided that growing up is mainly about breaking promises to yourself.

* * *

He wasn't even doing anything, just sitting there at his big computer display and flipping through business forms. There were lots of different currency symbols I recognized, like the yen and the pound, so I guess they were finances. Every once in awhile he would type something in or click a button, but I wasn't really looking at the screen. Just him. The way he shifted in his seat, causing his muscles to momentarily strain against the long-sleeve shirt he was wearing. How his legs were crossed, but his foot didn't jiggle like anyone else's. He moved his right hand to his chin and began lightly stroking his goatee, which was when the funny feelings surging in my stomach made me hop up out of my seat on the rug and meander as casually as I could to his chair.

"Terra, you are not finished with your project," he said without even looking away from the screen. "You may go once that is complete."

I reluctantly glanced back at the pile of books and the large graph paper I had only halfway filled up. It was supposed to be a battle plan, using all the stuff we had gone over that week. I moved to his side. "My eyes hurt," I lied, making sure not to whine for effect. He hated whining. "I just wanna take a break."

Since he didn't answer immediately, I leaned on the arm of the large wingback he used instead of a rolling office chair like any normal person would have. I love being close to him. I made sure I was on his left side, to be polite, but it meant that I got caught staring at him like a dope when his eye moved from the screen to me. "A break is acceptable," he stated, before going back to his work. And his hand started stroking his goatee again. Oh God, how I wanted to touch him. Something was certainly wrong with me. I never started touching _him_, he would start touching _me_.

But I still sat myself down on the arm, my left leg tucked under my butt; the pressure I was getting on the seam of my jean shorts from my ankle bone made me want to feel his skin on mine. I settled, after a long moment, on merely moving my hand to his head and brushing my fingers through his short, white hair. It had just been cut close the other week and had an interesting texture to it now. He didn't pause in his typing of a message to someone with a bunch of weird symbols, but he did tilt his head back, towards me. So I kept doing it.

After a couple minutes, I moved my left arm up too, draping it across his collar bone and resting my head on his shoulder. He smelled so good. I buried my my nose into his neck, but he didn't stop typing until the fingers of my left hand slipped underneath the collar of his shirt. "Terra," he rumbled lightly, while I opened up my mouth to taste his neck, like he did with me in bed. "Is this your way of trying to get out of your studies?"

I ran the palm of my hand through his hair again, harder, moving my lips to his ear. He shoved the keyboard back into the console. As much as I wish I could say I knew exactly what I was doing, the reality was that I didn't have one damn clue. It was just mimicry. "I dunno," I mumbled into his ear, giving a lick. I had liked that, right? "I just wanted to touch you, like you touch me."

It took a few heartbeats for him to do anything else and it felt like forever. Never had I wanted him to touch me so bad. His hands were just resting there on the console. I wanted them on me. It was all I could think about and I felt like I was burning up from the inside. Finally, he pulled me onto his lap, so that my legs were on either side of him, and began to speak.

"Terra," he started, and I moved my face from his neck to listen. "I didn't tell you to stop, honey," he stated smoothly, placing his hand on the back of my head to guide my mouth back to his neck. He continued speaking once I'd resumed, his voice huskier. "Terra, you are going to finish your project tonight." His hands moved to the legs of my shorts, fingertips sliding up to touch bare, hidden skin. "I am going to complete my business dealings." I ground my hips against the front of his slacks and he made a muffled sound into my hair before continuing. "And neither of us is going to leave this room until these things are complete."

_Please don't make me move, please please please. _"Yes, sir," I said into his chin, enjoying the soft tickle of his facial hair. I didn't want him to make me stop, I wanted his bed and his sheets and that mouth. Suddenly, he kissed me, tasting like the tea that sat abandoned a few inches away. His fingers migrated to the fly of my shorts and I started to ask against his lips, "I thought-"

"You thought wrong," he interjected, pressing a button on the console with the hand not tugging my zipper down, my legs moving automatically to wiggle out of the denim. I heard the door to the room lock with a click, right before I heard my jean shorts land on the floor, the metal button hitting the steel with a deafening 'ping'. "I said we wouldn't leave the room before the work was done, not that I wouldn't take care of you." His mouth was on my throat then, his hands gripping my waist right at the top of my underwear. I could feel him firm beneath me. "Isn't that what you wanted, little girl?" he asked, his voice rough and low. "For me to make you come?"

"Yes," I let out as a jagged breath, my fingers brushing the back of his head, barely having enough sense to avoiding the strap for his eyepatch. "Yes, Slade. Please..."

One of his hands left my waist, moving between us to his belt. How could he do so many things at once? "Give me your word that you'll get right back to work."

"Promise, promise," I said in a rush, diving in for another kiss. Only a month and some change since I'd had my first one and now I couldn't live without them. Can't live without him. Like food or air or chocolate.

"That's a good girl." His voice is golden against my mouth, even punctuated by heavy breathing. "So obedient."

* * *

_Bold line of bumps for present, hollow line for planned...oops. _It was the third time I had made that mistake with my forward line of troops. I reached for my eraser again. The boundaries and fire points were done at least. I added a booby trap near the edge of a warehouse, mostly because it was fun to draw, like a spotlight shining. "Slade," I called out from my belly down position on the rug. "Can I put a road on here too? I want it for this thing in the second part."

"You may," his voice drifted from the other side of the room. "Don't lose your mind with extra pieces, though."

"Kay." I went back to erasing the unneeded coloring job, trying not to bear down too hard and tear the paper. If I was going to put in a road, my attack arrows would need to be adjusted. But I would be done in just an hour or so. I snuck a glance back at Slade, who had given me just enough time to dress again and settle among my books before buzzing Wintergreen on the intercom for a new cup of tea.

It had been a good night.


	3. Patience

**Title: **Seven by Seven

**Rating: **M (For sexual content, violence, adult language, and manipulation)

**Beta:** At the Writer's Block and Jericho Pryce

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. The owners own. This is for fun, not profit. I've made no money.

**Summary:** Seven virtues, seven sins, fourteen one-shots. They offer small glimpses into the lives of a very troubled girl and her charismatic master. (Slade/Terra, Slerra)

**Author's Notes:** Wednesday deadline is still in effect, but I guess my brain took that to mean "finished writing by" rather than "posted by" and didn't take into account the beta process. Or that whole section I forgot to add while writing...the one the whole piece was _based on_. Said main idea provided by ATWB, who is a precious doll. (Go read her Slerra stuff in-between my updates! She knows how these two should operate.)

And thanks for the faves and alerts, guys! It really makes my day. I am also not allergic to feedback or whatever you feel is appropriate, even if I don't ask for it outright. This applies to all of my work, but I don't usually mention it 'cause that just ain't my style. Here is me bringing it up, briefly, before we continue with our next virtue.

* * *

**Patience - Being Peaceful in Goal.**

She was on the ground, because of a mistake she herself had made, wiping the blood trickling from her lip with her sleeve. Even then she had that air about her, the one all of the adolescents he trained possessed and wielded as if it meant a goddamn thing. He'd knocked the look off the face of far too many impudent recruits to count and it always ended exactly the same: Slade was right and they were wrong.

Always.

"You are doing precisely what I told you not to," he remarked calmly, watching her glare furiously at the concrete floor as if it was insulting her. "The staff is an extension of your own limbs. Use your right hand to guide."

Narrowed blue eyes lifted to meet his face. "I _was_. You were the one that started using fancy kicks and shit-"

"Language." Her foul vocabulary didn't offend him, but her use of it so casually was a weakness. Terra needed to learn how to control her mouth and use words to her advantage. Choose them carefully, for maximum impact.

"Whatever." And there was the eyeroll. God, how he _loathed _the eyeroll. Such a blatant action of contempt and disrespect. "I don't even see why I need this. I came to you for help with my powers, not fancy stick moves."

Ah, the old song and dance. She had a tendency to pull the "I don't need to do this" protest out when she was frustrated with a lesson that wasn't immediately related to her lack of geokinetic control, but this time she was getting snappy about it. As if she were the one calling the shots. She had sold her soul to the devil and was expecting to pen her own itinerary. Slade couldn't help the malicious smile beneath his mask and casually approached her, staff slung over his shoulder. "If there is some displeasure you have regarding your training, Terra," he said in an overly silky tone, "By all means, speak up."

"Yeah," she replied quickly, pulling herself up with the aid of her own staff. "Yeah, I got some _displeasure_. With this crap that has nothing to do with anything. Every day I work my butt off for you, listening to your criticisms and your weird lectures; doing your stupid breathing exercises and focusing bullshit that hasn't gotten me _anywhere_." Her gloved hands were fisted at her sides, cheeks pink-tinged with fury. It was a ridiculously cute display. "I don't know why I believed that you could help me. Maybe I should go back to _them_," Terra spat coldly, obviously intending for it to be a low blow. "I could have been fixed by now. And at least _they_ weren't total assholes to me."

It was not the first time she had threatened to take up the standing offer to join the Teen Titans, but they were merely petulant shadows of hints. Now she had brought it out in the clear, trying to perhaps...what? Hurt his feelings? Cause him to beg her for more time to help? She had been with him for almost four weeks. Wasn't that sufficient time to fully understand what she had gotten herself into? Was she still unaware what kind of man she had sought sanctuary with? So many idiotic questions with idiotic answers. She was nowhere near that stupid, he knew, but to throw it all in-front of him so blatantly was really beginning to piss him off.

The next few moments were silent between them, filled only by her hateful stare and the groaning echo of the industrial air conditioning. "Was that it, Terra?" he finally asked, moving forwards until there was little more than a foot between them. "Was that it for your juvenile little tirade? Perhaps you also wish to complain about the quality of your quarters or the meals. Maybe the fabric softener we use for the towels is not your favorite scent."

The teenager held his gaze defiantly, but said nothing. "Perhaps," he continued, "I did not make it clear enough when we began this arrangement, but everything I do has a reason. A purpose. Oftentimes they are solely mine to know and you will only be informed if I deem it necessary." He was circling around her as he spoke, enjoying how she tried not to follow him with her head. "Do you notice all of these 'I' statements? That is because _I _have taken it upon myself to teach _you_ what _you_ need to know. This is _my_ situation, dear."

Slade halted in-front of her again, gloved hands resting on his staff. It made a sharp scraping sound against the concrete floor as he bent down to lean in close to her face. Her eyes widened just a fraction. "Tell me something, Terra: How much control do you think you really have here?" He received no answer, again. So he continued. "None. Not over my actions or your powers. The latter, however, can be handled. But only if you drop these hormone-driven temper tantrums and trust that your lessons are working towards that goal, no matter how abstract they may seem at the time."

He pulled back slightly, enjoying the minute breath she let out in response. "These snide little comments about running back to the Titans are not only completely absurd, but on par with the aggravating squeals of a toddler who hasn't gotten her way. A child who doesn't comprehend the reasons why the adults say no to the candy bar before dinner, running with scissors, or not wearing a coat in the snow. Must I explain things to you like an infant? You _know_ why you won't go back to the Titans. They betrayed your trust. They look down upon you. And..." he added, masked face tilted slightly, "What would they do if they knew about your accidents? Those people who were hurt, because of your presence-"

"I didn't mean to!" she exclaimed, brows furrowed. "You know that!"

Slade gave an easy shrug. "I believe you. But would they?" Her mouth, open in preparation to continue her protests, snapped shut. "They would deem you a danger if they knew the extent. They would not have the knowledge or the resources to help you harness your abilities. But I do, Terra. I have the means, the skill, and the time. If you work with me and not against me, because I have no intention of wasting my time or my money on an unappreciative student."

She had the good sense of mind to lower her gaze to where his hands met the staff and spoke in a small voice. "I don't understand why you're teaching me to fight."

"Fighting keeps you in-tune with yourself and your movements," he explained easily. "It creates focus and awareness. Gives you...control." The big blue eyes flicked back up to meet his as he watched the final word register with her. Finally, they were getting somewhere. Hopefully there would be less resistance from her end, allowing him to more easily sway her towards his ultimate game plan. It was more than worth seeing through to the end, as always.

Even if it meant suffering through yet another infuriating adolescent.


	4. Sloth

**Title: **Seven by Seven

**Rating: **M (For sexual content, violence, adult language, and manipulation)

**Betas:** At the Writer's Block and Gladrial10

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. The owners own. This is for fun, not profit. I've made no money.

**Summary:** Seven virtues, seven sins, fourteen one-shots. They offer small glimpses into the lives of a very troubled girl and her charismatic master. (Slade/Terra, Slerra)

**Author's Notes:** Shit went down for me and I wasn't really in the right frame of mind to write for…quite a bit. I was also a little stuck on how the second part of this was gonna go, but At the Writer's Block helped me with my issues. (As always! ...seriously guys, I think she's magic.)

This story takes place a few months into Terra's training, before she is sent on her spying mission or Slade puts any moves on her. And not only is Wintergreen finally onscreen for this chapter, but I get to play with those positive fatherly traits of Slade's that he taps into when he is not being Worst Father of the Year.

**Chapter Warning:** Deals with bodily fluids, so don't read while eating lunch. I did not mince words in my descriptions.

* * *

**Sloth - Desire for Rest. **

Terra felt so, well..shitty. Sluggish and filled with ick. She didn't want to get out of bed, she didn't want to get dressed, and she certainly didn't want to go train for hours upon hours with Slade.

Her alarm had gone off twice. Wintergreen had been in twice. Slade only had to come in once.

The metal door to her room made an echoing crash as he slammed it open and moved forward, yanking her covers off with one hand and grabbing her right wrist in a crushing grip with the other. Terra kicked uselessly, but still found herself thrown against the wall and held there nearly three feet off the ground, and staring straight into his furious face. She was pinned by both of her wrists on either side of her head and didn't dare make another move. He was already in his armor and he meant business.

"Terra," he spat with outrageous calm. "For the past three months, I have provided you with all of your essentials. I have given you control over your powers. And still, you decide that the small sacrifice of a 6 AM wake-up is somehow _optional_?" She shook her head frantically, too scared to tear her eyes away from his. Slade's white eyebrows furrowed farther and he leaned in close. "This is unacceptable, _apprentice_. When I say jump, you say 'how high?' When I tell you to be somewhere at a certain time, you _will_ be there and ready. With goddamn bells on."

A strange sensation was crawling up Terra's stomach and resting in her throat. She attempted to say "yes, sir", but all that came out was a hoarse squeak. Abruptly, he dropped her and she slid down the wall, leaning back against it for support. Her legs weren't working.

"Five minutes. You will be in the training room, dressed and beginning your stretches. Is that clear?"

Struggling to pull herself up, she nodded...and abruptly projectile vomited all over his boots. Horrified, Terra tried to make her way to her attached bathroom, but barely made it away from the wall before throwing up again. Crumbling to the floor, she leaned against her bed with one arm for support and heaved a third time, mumbling thickly afterward, "I think I'm sick".

She was dimly aware of Slade calling Wintergreen on his comm before picking her up and depositing her in frontof the toilet. Clinging to the cool porcelain with both arms like a lifeline, Terra felt it coming again and braced herself. Hands were holding her hair back and she heard Slade say to Wintergreen, "No, I've got her. Just get the other room ready. It doesn't have sheets yet." She heard Wintergreen leave the bathroom...wait, when had Wintergreen entered? Her brain was messing up!

"Slade," she mumbled into the toilet. He didn't answer immediately, so she tried it louder. "SLA-," she couldn't finish, though, because of another round of vomiting. She knew he was there because he was still holding her hair with one hand and the other was on her back. Hugging a toilet in just her camisole and pajama pants, while a supervillain watched calmly, was not how she wanted to die. "I'm dying, Slade," Terra said after finishing, voice muffled by the toilet seat she was pressed against. "This is what dying feels like. I can't...see...my brain is dying too..."

He was laughing then and she felt irritated that her death on a bathroom floor was being taken so casually. "You're not dying, girl." His large, gloved hand was moving in circles near her spine. Did he always touch her this much? "It's just a stomach bug. Get it out of your system and you'll be fine in a day or so."

"I think I puked on your feet," she said wearily, trying to ignore the grossness that was her mouth. "...And your floor."

"Yes, you did."

It was another couple of minutes before she could say anything else, being preoccupied as she was with emptying the seemingly endless contents of her stomach. She was never going to eat spaghetti ever, ever again. Ever. When she had control, Terra gave a very unladylike groan into the toilet bowl and apologized for being sick all over everywhere. "M'sorry for...mess...and...boots," was how it came out, but Slade seemed to understand.

"It's fine, Terra," he said easily, without any hint of the bite he had not ten minutes previous. "Do you think you're done for right now?"

"Ugh, maybe..." She attempted to pull herself up using the toilet as leverage, but found herself slipping down again. "My legs are broke." Strong arms lifted her up by the waist and Terra clung to his body armor like a lifeline, burying her face into the metal and kevlar. "...woozy," she groaned, struggling to open her eyes in order to find out why there was suddenly a water sound. And why her pants were being pulled off. Finding this a very good reason to look down, she immediately regretted it and clenched her eyes shut again. "Oh God, everything is spinning..."

"You have a fever," replied Slade, lifting her up slightly to finish divesting herself of her legwear. Feeling him begin to lift her top off, Terra pushed herself away from him and stumbled right into the bathroom counter. His arm reached for her again, tugging her towards the shower. "Take it off yourself, then. Just get under the water and you'll feel better."

They stood there for a few heartbeats, Terra rubbing her hip where it had hit the counter and Slade staring at her, before he said, "Yell if you start to faint," and finally left.

* * *

Though she had to lean against the shower wall a few times, Terra had been able to bathe without tossing her cookies again. She still felt like crap, but at least there wasn't anything in her hair anymore. There was a fresh set of pajamas and underwear waiting for her by the sink; the dirty ones on the floor were gone. Fumbling from her disoriented state, she managed to get everything on after only two tries at getting her foot through the right hole in her panties. They might have even been on inside out, but she was beyond ready to curl up and go to sleep.

The smell of disinfectant greeted her as she sluggishly walked out of the bathroom. Wintergreen had his shirtsleeves rolled up, wearing comically yellow rubber gloves, and was mopping the places on the floor where she had thrown up. "Oh, man, I'm sorry," Terra apologized, bracing herself against her dresser to keep from falling. "I'm so sorry about that."

Wintergreen gave her a smile from beneath his bushy white mustache. "Quite alright, my dear. It's why I'm here, to handle anything that needs doing."

Terra frowned, still feeling bad about it. After all, Wintergreen was the _nice _one. "You shouldn't have to clean up after me..."

"Maybe not after _you_, no," he replied with an amused jerk of his head towards Slade, who had just entered the room.

Terra giggled and Slade didn't spare a glance at Wintergreen before saying, "Careful mopping up, there. The _elderly_ are much more susceptible to infection."

The elder in question held his shoulders up, stating proudly, "And I have _earned _every gray hair, thank you."

Perhaps Slade would have said something else, but he had reached Terra just in time to keep her from sliding to the floor again. The drowsiness had become overwhelming and she looked over at her bed. "My sheets are gone."

"You'll just be down the hall," Slade said, already directing her by the shoulders out of the room.

Evidently, he had just taken his armor off because he was wearing the plain pants and long sleeve shirt that went on under it. "Don't you get hot underneath that AND all that armor?" Terra asked on their way to the other room. She wasn't used to being barefoot on the concrete floor lining the corridor and her feet made odd, hollow smacking sounds when she stepped.

"It's only fifty pounds," he replied. "And it has itsown cooling system, so no."

"Oh," she said. Her eyes were so heavy...why was she so sleepy all of a sudden? "I'm so tired, Slade. Is it the fever?"

"Perhaps somewhat," he said, guiding her towards the twin-sized bed and turning to leave as she climbed beneath the comforter. "Not to mention you've lost a great deal of fluids," he added after flipping the light switch by the doorway.

"Sorry," Terra mumbled yet again, pulling the cold pillow towards her face and breathing in the sterile smell of the bulk detergent that had been used on it. It felt like she was melting into the sheets, a far cry from the days of park benches and caves. The door clicked shut, extinguishing the last sliver of light from the hallway.

* * *

She was unaware how long she had been asleep. Twice, maybe more than that, Wintergreen had been in to feel her head and check the trashcan by her bed. She was pretty much still asleep when this happened, opening her eyes very briefly and catching the cuff of his shirtsleeve or the bushy white mustache that was in her direct line of sight. He spoke in deep, soothing tones to say words she didn't understand.

Eventually, Terra opened her eyes for more than two seconds and stared at the blank gray wall, trying to figure out if she wanted to go to the restroom bad enough to get out from under the warm covers. Deciding in time that she did, Terra braved the cold floor on her still bare feet and spent the next three minutes trying to remember exactly what had happened. Most of it was an uncomfortable blur and way too much of it involved sitting on bathroom tile, hugging porcelain.

She tried to recall if she said or did anything more embarrassing than puking all over Slade's boots, but nothing came to mind until she spotted the brown bruise on her hip. She had bumped into the counter before Slade could take her shirt off. Helpfully, of course. She had needed to get in the shower and she was sick, so he was just helping her do that. Just like her pants and…probably her underwear.

Having been in the middle of washing her hands, she froze and stared at the running water. He wouldn't have taken her underwear off, right? Pants were one thing and maybe, in hindsight, she could even see the shirt being justifiable. But her panties? That was just…ridiculous. Yes, it was stupid. He would have turned away once her shirt was off and left her panties alone.

Sure.

When she opened the door to the bathroom, she was surprised to see Wintergreen waiting for her, holding a bottle, a spoon, and what she assumed was a thermometer. "It is nice to see you conscious, dear," he said with a smile. "I was just coming to give you another dose of your medicine."

"Thanks," she chirped, climbing back onto her bed. "But I don't remember you giving me any before."

"Oh, I've been administering it regularly. You have been asleep for quite a bit."

Her heart did a little flip. How much training time had she lost? She decided to ask before Wintergreen put the thermometer he was readying into her mouth. "How long was I out of it?" She attempted to keep her tone casual, mostly to calm herself.

"A day and a half, roughly," he said, motioning for her to open her mouth and sliding the plastic wrapped tip of the device under her tongue. Perhaps seeing the way her shoulders sank at this, he added, "It's not uncommon with a fever like the one you've had. Rest and fluids are what you need."

She thought about this for the long moment that the thermometer took to determine her temperature. Rest. What a foreign concept. After three months of intense training and schedule, could she really be handed a free pass to not do anything at all? Sure, Slade gave her some free time each day to relax, a few half hour breaks after training and meals, but she was always intensely aware of the time during those. And falling into bed exhausted every night, only to wake up at dawn in order to train, wasn't restful in the least.

Wintergreen withdrew the thermometer after it let out a small beep. "Miss Terra, it seems your fever is almost gone," he said after a glance at the results. "But you will need to give your body time to recuperate."

"So, like, I'm just supposed to hang out here?"

Chuckling, Wintergreen gave an affectionate pat on her hand. "Precisely. Would you like me to bring you anything to keep you occupied?"

Terra didn't need to be asked twice.

* * *

By the next day, Terra had read through almost all the articles in her teen magazines, including the advice columns and the cringe-inducing sections filled with insane embarrassments. She had twice gone through the periodical on hiking destinations and the collection of European folktales. Four puzzles in the Sudoku book had been started and abandoned halfway through. And her cassette player's batteries had only run out once, when she had drifted to sleep while listening to one of the tapes she'd found in her days of traveling.

Wintergreen dropped by periodically to check on her and bring her dry toast, rice, or applesauce, which were the only things she was allowed to eat. At first he brought her lots of water, but then he brought her a tea with ginger and some other stuff in it that he insisted she sip slowly. For a few minutes he would stay and chat before going off to "attend to things". Terra had never really received a clear answer on what Wintergreen's exact job was, but he seemed to handle both mysterious errands and everyday tasks around the place with practiced efficiency.

About twenty minutes after Wintergreen had brought her dinner, there was a knock at the door. Terra called "come in" around a mouth full of applesauce, but regretted this when it was Slade who entered. Hastily, Terra swallowed and sat her magazine down, self-consciously sitting up a little straighter and running a hand through her hair.

"Good evening, Terra." He said this casually, and he wasn't in armor, but she decided to play it safe.

"Hello, um, sir." Here he was in front of her and all she could think about was what a wuss he probably thought she was. That and the underwear thing…Oh God! She was thinking about that again! Quickly, she spat out, "I'm feeling better. Uh, now."

"I had heard that from Wintergreen," he replied pleasantly. "Very good news. Though we will have to work on boosting your immune system to prevent a reoccurrence."

There was just something about that last word that hit Terra particularly hard and her mouth began moving on its own. "I'm so sorry about sleeping in and getting sick all over and not training!" Cringing, she stared down at the applesauce on her tray and kept a death-grip on the blanket edge beneath.

She thought she was going to die when he took a seat on the edge of her bed. Now that would make a good entry for the embarrassment pages. Certain to beat out the period mishaps and accidental flashings. "Dear Teen Vibe, I totally threw up all over my supervillain teacher's boots, acted like a complete spaz repeatedly when he tried to help, then died after I fainted and drowned in applesauce with him watching." It was sure to receive a ten out of ten on the disaster level.

"Terra, you can't help being ill. It wasn't as if you purposefully injected yourself with a plague. Then I would be justifiably irritated." Cautiously, she looked up and saw the small smile on his face, returning a nervous one of her own. "And we will resume training when it is appropriate for your body," he continued, blue eye meeting hers in a way that made her nod automatically. "It would be very poor leadership to work you to death rather than just allow you the short time to recover."

"I…I know," she sighed. "I just don't want to, um…disappoint you or anything. Make you think I'm not reliable."

Slade paused for a brief moment and glanced at an empty spot on her white bedspread, before looking back up. "I would like to make a deal with you, Terra. One for the rest of your training. If, at any point, you feel physically ill enough that you seriously don't think physical exertion should be attempted, I want you to tell me rather than potentially injure yourself."

Eyes wide, Terra found her mind blank and could only say, "For real?"

"Absolutely. But," he held up a finger in warning, "I expect you to be mature enough to handle such a claim. Let us not forget the story of the boy who cried wolf."

Nodding like an idiot, Terra felt the babbling bubble up again in her throat and managed to filter it down to, "Thank you, yes sir. Thank you." She had no intention of making him doubt her when she used this golden ticket. And she suddenly felt better than she had in days, just knowing that he wanted her to stay healthy, even if it cost training time.

Suddenly, Slade reached over her legs and plucked up, to her horror, one of the teen magazines that littered her bed. He glanced at the cover, which happened to boast "makeup tips for spring" and "dating dos and don'ts", before dropping it in favor of the European folktales book that Wintergreen had happened to throw in with the rest.

"Had you heard of most of these?" he asked her, flipping through the pages.

She shook her head. "Only some of them, from my bonă. I mean, the nanny, I guess."

"Bineînțeles că vorbesc româna, draga mea," he stated with only a small twinge of his regular accent. "Am avut câțiva clienți care o preferau." It had been a very long time since Terra had heard Romanian, the language she had grown up with, and it gave her an unsettled feeling.

"I don't like to speak it, really," she admitted, trying to keep any deep emotion from her voice. "I prefer English."

"Yes, you are remarkably fluent. Did it take long to lose your accent?"

Terra shrugged. "I already knew English, I just had to work at it. I ended up practicing a lot by repeating things people said, trying to get the pronunciations right. Eventually I sounded pretty okay."

"I see. The benefits of a young mind. Parles-tu français?" Slade asked, still flipping through the book in his hand.

Now_ that_ was a language she didn't mind. "En fait, oui," Terra responded, a smile breaking across her face. "Très bien." Markovia, as he was well-aware, shared most of its border with France and knowing both it, plus smatterings of German and Russian, were an integral part of her early education. "Étonnamment, cela s'est révélé très utile par moments."

"Oui, ma jeune apprentie. Je suis sûr de ça." The book snapped shut with a flick of his wrist and he placed it back down, picking up the hiking magazine which had a very picturesque canyon splashed across the cover. "For a young lady so dead-set against activities that don't involve flinging dirt around, you certainly have retained a great deal of your privileged education."

Again Terra shrugged, though she was uncomfortable with the way he kept turning the conversation. "Just sticks around. I like to read and stuff, if that's what you mean."

Slade laid the magazine down and gave her one of those knowing looks that made her think he could read her mind. "As long as the topic interests you, of course."

"Yeah…yes, sir." Was that good or bad? Bad, she guessed.

"You may be here for another day," he said, standing back up and putting his hands behind his back. "With that in mind, I have located several rare volumes on geokinesis and some other more general books on your element."

Terra blanched and blurted out, "You want me to read all those tomorrow?"

"Of course not. But this is as good a time as any for you to begin studying them, don't you agree?" Cheeks burning, Terra nodded. _Way to jump to conclusions, idiot_. _Just like with the shower._ "Good. I will bring them by in a half-hour."

"Um, okay. Thanks," she mumbled as he turned to leave, looking back down at her applesauce and trying desperately to ignore the warm spot by her leg where he had just been.

"Oh and Terra?"

Spoon having already been in her mouth again, Terra turned back to him lingering in the doorway and asked around it, "Sir?"

"O să aduc niște gheață pentru vânătaia aia."

She nearly choked on her applesauce after he left.

* * *

**TRANSLATIONS**

**_Romanian, provided by FallenHero93_**

Bineînțeles că vorbesc româna, draga mea. - **Of course I speak Romanian, my dear.**

Am avut câțiva clienți care o preferau. - **I've had several clients who preferred it**.

O să aduc niște gheață pentru vânătaia aia. - **I'll bring an ice pack for that bruise.**

0~0~0~0~0**  
**

**_French, provided by TheMadPuppy and Excuse My Muse_**

Parles-tu français? - **Do you speak French?**

En fait, oui. - **In fact, yes.**

Très bien. - **Very well.**

Étonnamment, cela s'est révélé très utile par moments. - **It has been surprisingly useful at times. **

Oui, ma jeune apprentie. Je suis sûr de ça. – **Yes, my young apprentice. I'm sure it has.**


End file.
